


Liars and Fools

by Kaerith



Series: Witcher Prompt One-Shots [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pining, Plot Device Forest of Evergreens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24953968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: Jaskier thinks he knows what he's doing, but he really doesn't.Geralt seems to enjoy playing gay chicken.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Prompt One-Shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791685
Comments: 16
Kudos: 235
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Liars and Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Witcherkinkmeme for the prompt: [Geralt/Jaskier One-sided relationship, poss. dub-con, deception](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=228781).

Jaskier plays people as well as music for a living. Talented bards, like good whores, are able to suss out strangers' desires and deepest longings and manipulate those emotions to get the most coin they can. He doesn't feel bad about it; if someone really doesn't want to be moved to tears by a ballad reminding them of that particular long-lost lover from their youth they can always leave.

Even aside from his vocation, he tends to unthinkingly exploit people for other reasons: to bed a beautiful woman, get the largest bowl of stew, and to get himself out of trouble are a few examples. It doesn't cost him a thing to look wide-eyed and boyish if he's hungry and begging a motherly woman for supper and may even save him some coppers in the end.

At their first conversation he knows that the Witcher finds him attractive. It was unexpected, but Jaskier had no problems with that fact. It gave him the leverage to keep Geralt from actually leaving him behind. If he could play up a twisted ankle and let Geralt take most of his weight as they hobble to a clearing for a rest without getting the usual growls and insults, why wouldn't he take advantage?

Geralt was amazing. Jaskier found himself very fond of the gruff Witcher quite soon after following him. He was tough, which meant he made a great companion on a journey through bandit-filled forests. He was scary, which meant Jaskier could just cozy up to him a bit to get people bugging him to back off. He was smart and dryly funny in a way that Jaskier pretended to be annoyed by so that Geralt cracked jokes at his expense more often. The man's loyalty was something Jaskier wouldn't have predicted, though, and was nice to learn. He truly felt honored whenever Geralt defended him.

So, since Geralt was giving him stories as well as being the best fellow traveler Jaskier could ever wish for (except for being male), it was fair for Jaskier to give back. Bending down to give Geralt a nice view of his backside, rubbing chamomile in tender areas, or helping his hair actually get clean wasn't any hardship for Jaskier in addition to working hard to improve the Witcher's reputation.

The longer Jaskier knew Geralt, the more he realized what a false front the man put up about not caring about what others thought of him. For a very handsome and powerful man Geralt seemed to have incredibly low self-esteem, Jaskier thought. The man actually teetered on the edge of self-sacrifice much more than Jaskier wanted.

As Geralt's truest friend, Jaskier was determined to make sure the idiot wouldn't kill himself doing something drastically heroic and stupid. Thankfully, Witchers were very hard to kill, so it wasn't a full-time job.

During one of their times apart Jaskier had been heartbroken by his latest patron so he had searched out Geralt, following rumors of monster contracts and then white-haired, amber-eyed men. It seemed he had found Geralt just in time, because the man was clearly Not Doing Well. So, half-drunk, Jaskier did what he tended to do with the gloomy old bastard: tease. Unfortunately, his teasing this time truly did seem to try the last of Geralt's parience. And maybe he shouldn't have scoffed at the idea of genies and wishes, because while it was possible the Witcher was having a mental breakdown it also was possible that the man who said he had literally fought ghosts and vampires may have known what he was talking about.

Even though he was pleasantly tipsy, however, Geralt's remark about his music being a "fillingless pie" had hurt because that was not an off-the-cuff reply-- that was an opinion that his friend had taken the time to compose.

What hurt even more was the djinn's answer to Geralt wanting some peace was to, apparently, kill Jaskier.

Jaskier was lucky that Geralt was so altruistic or had at least changed his mind, because the man really seemed to go to quite some lengths to undo the effects of his wish. Then there was the mage.

When Jaskier wakes up he's confused at first. Then he sees the mage and remembers Geralt brought him here to under the curse. Then things get a bit hectic with the witch demanding that he make a wish and threatening his Very Important Parts and then he escapes the manor and meets the elf healer outside.

Things are happening in the house. Jaskier is relieved when the elf says that Geralt isn't in there, but then the asshole comes up looking for _her_ and doesn't seem to notice the swirling wind and clouds and chanting. Jaskier is horribly afraid that Geralt is going to run in there and get killed. Even if he didn't get killed, messing with that witch was not going to end well. But the Witcher had that suicidal stony face, and the only way Jaskier could think of to stop him was to kiss him, and....

Well, Geralt was into it. Jaskier was honestly shocked at how much passion he put into a kiss. Jaskier threw his arms around his neck and kissed him, and Geralt was into it, and Jaskier was thinking, _This might be working!_ but then the idiot was pulling away to still go into the manor.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Do not tell me that this is finally the moment you’ve decided to actually care about someone other than yourself?" Jaskier said, following it up with the wisest advice he could ever remember giving anyone: "Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise!"

Geralt left him behind after saying, "She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die." And Jaskier was torn between being pleased that Geralt was relieved that Jaskier had recovered and infuriated that the bastard was going to kiss him like that and then run off after a crazy sorceress.

"Promise me you won't die!" He had begged, and the thought of Geralt's death made him tear up suddenly. He had to offer something tempting. "Please come back to me."

Geralt's eyes got wide, but he turned and went into the house anyway.

Jaskier and the elf watched the house collapse in on itself. Panic rose in his chest. "This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch? Why?"

The elf just gave him a pitying look. "Because she was magnificent. I'm sorry."

Jaskier was insulted. "That man was in love with me!"

"Are you sure? Didn't you see her? Her shapely form, purple eyes, and lovely hair? She is the most beautiful and clever woman I have encountered in my life."

"Well, I'm--" Jaskier couldn't think of something to finish that sentence that would help prove his point. "Reasonably handsome. Clever. Talented." He could tell he wasn't impressing the elf. "People have said that I have a very nice arse."

"You do." Jaskier turned around and Geralt was right there, looking only a little frazzled. He was overcome with relief.

"Seen better." That was the witch, but Jaskier ignored her.

He threw himself at Geralt. "You big, beautiful bastard!"

Geralt held him close and Jaskier remembered what he had done but didn't care because it had gotten the result he wanted. His friend was still alive, even if he was hugging him a little too close and for a little too long.

It was fine. _Fine._

* * *

It had been three days since Rinde and Jaskier was a little less fine. Geralt keeps touching him: on his shoulder, on his waist, on his thigh sitting next to him at supper. It's never anything too risque, but the continued assault has been taking its toll.

They are sitting on a fallen log with a small campfire. The temperature is a bit nippy, and Jaskier shivers a bit as he hunches into himself. Geralt puts an arm around him and draws him close so they are side-by-side.

"You're cold," Geralt says. Jaskier never knows whether to be annoyed when Geralt states the obvious or to just be happy the guy is speaking actual words. To Jaskier's surprise, the Witcher follows up his bon mot with even more words. "So you want me to help you warm up some more?" Geralt nuzzles his nose into Jaskier's hair and the bard gets a buzzing feeling in his stomach because this is weird.

"Listen, I've never actually been with a man before. Like _that_ ," Jaskier stresses, because sometimes the dense Witcher is just dense.

Geralt just hums. They watch the fire crackle for a minute. "I'm a patient man. It's enough for me right now to know how you feel about me."

Jaskier has to grind his teeth to stop himself from shrieking at the implication that Geralt is planning on waiting until Jaskier's ready to be... deflowered like a maiden. "These... feelings are new for me," Jaskier finally says. "I would appreciate it if you gave me some time. I've always been happy with women, you know. Like, _really_ happy, multiple times in one day happy."

Geralt's breath comes out as an audible huff and Jaskier hopes that the man is amused instead of jealous, because Geralt really seems like he could be the scary-jealous type.

"You don't need to worry about that," Geralt says, and Jaskier is relieved until he adds, "I have superhuman stamina. I may be old, but I promise that you'll be the one struggling to keep up with me."

Jaskier inhales his own saliva and has a coughing fit. The bastard is just grinning at him. Jaskier would swear his friend's mouth wouldn't have been able to do that until he actually sees it. It's creepy.

Jaskier unfortunately doesn't die drowning on his spit. He lives to be pulled back against Geralt as the man cuddles him as if he can protect him from the entire world. Geralt kisses the top of his head. Jaskier sits as still as he can and tries not to panic until Geralt finally gets up to put out the fire.

* * *

At the next town Jaskier performs half the night at the tavern then spends the other half getting himself drunk off his ass. He doesn't remember much of the the night when he wakes up in the morning, but he's lying in bed with no shirt or boots, being spooned by Geralt. It's... odd, being the little spoon. He sits up and then groans at the way his head spins.

"Morning," the Witcher grumbles in his most gravelly tone.

"Shit," Jaskier says in reply, rubbing his face. It's sore. "What happened last night? What happened to my shirt?" A thought occurs to him. "What happened to _your_ shirt?"

"You told everyone you could do a backflip," Geralt says, with the smallest smirk ever. "Fell on your face. Had a nosebleed."

"Fuck," Jaskier says. While none of that rings a bell, he does remember how much of an idiot drunk Jaskier tends to be. His nose is really tender, and he prods at it.

Geralt sits up, the sheets falling down to expose his chest, and moves his hand away from his face. "Leave it. You'll make it bleed again."

Jaskier snorts. "Like you are so responsible when it comes to self-care. I literally had to tie you down that one time outside Novigrad when you got stabbed in the kidney."

The Witcher puts his white head on his shoulder. "Feel free to tie me down when I'm not injured," he says.

"Oh dear. I think I'm gonna vomit," Jaskier said, and it was a 50/50 chance that the nausea was because of the hangover.

* * *

Jaskier was thankful that his friend was so patient. After telling him that little white lie Jaskier couldn't very well refuse to do intimate tasks he had done before he had saved Geralt's life. But bath time was now... erotically charged, you might say, and Geralt wasn't exactly trying to prevent or hide his... appreciation for Jaskier's attention.

Or, as the unlearned plebes might say it, Geralt frequently had boners in the bathtub and didn't bother to make excuses for himself.

Jaskier decidedly did not have boners in the tub, because he let Geralt think he was being coy whenever the Witcher invited him to share. And the bard strategically lengthened Geralt's bath time by doing unnecessary things with his white hair so that the water was quite cool when it was his turn.

Jaskier had done enough shaving and shampooing and braiding to work at any of the finer barber establishments on the Continent.

Every time Jaskier held out a bath sheet for Geralt to wrap himself and his intimidating prick up after bathing, he resolutely avoided Geralt's sly glances and played dumb to his suggestive suggestions.

Jaskier would feel guilty whenever he settled into a lukewarm tub, but he also had to admit the man's forbearance was admirable; if Jaskier were in Geralt's place and one of Jaskier's lady friends had pulled the same stunts he was doing, Jaskier would have broken down begging or left in a huff a long time ago.

* * *

Jaskier spent a very memorable night at an inn in... Blackwater? Blackwood? Black-something, anyway. It was bursting at the seams with travelers, and was an enthusiastic, boisterous, generous crowd. Jaskier performed for nearly four hours and everyone loved him.

He assumed that the White Wolf was having an enjoyable night as well, creeping around a cemetery that was haunted with some super-wraith or something. (Geralt's definition of "fun" was odd.)

Jaskier was in his element playing rowdy dancing tunes and filthy drinking sing-alongs, and being fawned over by no less than five pretty young women. People were literally showering his boots with coin. All that stopped when Geralt returned.

At least he wasn't covered in guts, Jaskier had to admit. And bringing the mood down couldn't have been intentional on Geralt's part, because all he did was get a mug of ale and sit at the table Jaskier was standing on with the bard's most devoted female admirers. But after he sat down the girls quickly left, then the party stopped.

Jaskier collected his earnings then the pair went to their rented room. "How do you bring down the mood of a room by your mere presence?" Jaskier wondered.

"It's a gift," Geralt said dryly, as he used a wet cloth to wipe graveyard dust off his neck.

The bard undressed and carefully folded up his performance garments. He was bending over and tucking them away in his bag when Geralt grabbed his hips and pulled Jaskier tightly against himself. The Witcher was obviously aroused, and Jaskier got that squirmy feeling in his belly again.

Carefully straightening to a standing position, Jaskier kept his bottom half very still. "What are you doing?"

Geralt started... nuzzling his neck. "I like seeing you perform to an audience like that. You light up."

"Uh, thanks? But I thought my music was a 'fillingless pie?'" Jaskier said. He hadn't managed to get over the hurt of that remark.

"I'm sorry I said that," Geralt said. Jaskier nearly keeled over with a heart attack at that admission. Geralt had even more uncharacteristic things to say. "Not only was I short-tempered because I hadn't been able to sleep, I had missed you. I was also jealous of your, what, countess?"

"Jealous?" Jaskier sputtered.

Geralt put a gentle palm on his forehead and tipped the bard's head back against his own scruffy chin. Jaskier got goosebumps because _the Witcher kissed his hair._

"You sing these beautiful love ballads and I long for you," Geralt admitted. His voice had gotten huskier, and Jaskier could feel Geralt's dick twitch as it pressed into his ass! The Witcher's calloused hands stroked the bard's face and stomach. Jaskier felt his own cock start to wake up with interest; he supposed it was a conditioned response that was so well-trained that it didn't matter if the hands touching him were very manly friendly hands belonging to his very manly friend. Jaskier pulled himself away and whirled to face his friend, about to tell him to stop, but then he saw the soft affection on Geralt's usually hard, emotionless face.

Jaskier's mouth went dry and his mind fumbled for words. Geralt took one step forward and swept Jaskier into an embrace, bending him backward and kissing him like Jaskier was the heroine of an epic love poem. The bard's body automatically responded, though his brain was still frozen.

Geralt held him close and lifted him up, folding Jaskier's legs around his waist and holding him by his ass. The Witcher took the opportunity for a thorough grope, and Jaskier realized he kinda wanted to go with it. It was entirely alien to be pressed against a broad, hard chest, but the gentleness of Geralt's huge hands and the ardor of his mouth was pretty damn tempting.

Jaskier broke away. "Only hands. I don't think I'm ready for...." He trailed away, mildly surprised at how breathless he felt. Geralt made a noise of assent, then laid the bard down on the bed with tenderness.

"May I?" The scarred man asked politely in the deepest, growliest voice Jaskier had ever heard from him. The Witcher had his fingers lightly touching the ties of Jaskier's drawers.

Jaskier nodded, his head spinning. Was he enjoying this? His cock seemed enthusiastic, but that prick was renowned across the Continent for his bad decisions. When Jaskier's body was fully revealed, the White Wolf gave a growl that made the bard's heart start to pound frantically. It felt like fear, but Jaskier's dick was throbbing even more with anticipation.

Geralt hovered over him and kissed him again across Jaskier's lips and jaw and neck as he wrapped one of those huge hands around the bard's cock. Jaskier's hips bucked up and he felt the damp crown of his dick press against Geralt's pale abdomen.

"Oh!" His breath left him in a heaving gasp. Geralt lifted his face and flashed him a smile.

"Let me take you apart," Geralt crooned, and Jaskier's entire body felt like molten steel. The Witcher's hand stroked him expertly, a little rough with a bit of a twist at the top, and Jaskier sunk into the sensation, digging his fingers desperately into Geralt's bare shoulders.

Jaskier unraveled embarrassingly fast, and his orgasm was all too soon wrung out of him. He knew he was loud, but lacked any shame while in the heat of the moment.

"Beautiful," Geralt rumbled, and Jaskier felt his face flush even as his mind was still spinning. There was some fumbling of a hand between them, then the Witcher was holding Jaskier's hand. "Will you help me?"

The bard nodded and his hand was led down and encouraged to hold Geralt's very... sizable... manhood. Geralt's hand guided his, and the Witcher soon came with a stifled grunt and Jaskier felt hot foreign seed land on his belly. For a second he expected the other man to collapse on top of him, but Geralt rolled onto the bed, shoulder to shoulder before catching his breath.

"How is it I can run for countless miles, but lose the ability to breathe when I come?" Geralt asked the ceiling beams.

Jaskier was hit with the reality of what they had just done and the afterglow abruptly disappeared. He faked a huge yawn. "Aaahh! Well, that was a busy night and I'm quite worn out, so please do snuff out the candle, I'm going to sleep, goodnight." He rolled on his side to face away from Geralt and closed his eyes.

He heard Geralt huff then felt him get out of bed.

"You're hopeless," the man grumbled, as he lifted the sheet to wipe the cum off of the bard's stomach. But he tenderly tucked him back in and kissed him on his head. "Sleep well."

* * *

There was a bog. There was a bog, and it was right in front of them, and they were planning on going into it. On foot.

"Nope," Jaskier said. "I'll be happy to stay behind with Roach in a nice, warm, dry stall and sleep in the hay with the horseshit."

Geralt grunted a "Fine," then started to wade into the cold watery mud. "But you said you wanted to come and it'll be dark before you're halfway back to town. And there are wolves."

"Wolves?" Jaskier asked.

"Real wolves," Geralt confirmed. "With the pelts and the teeth."

"Bugger," Jaskier said, hopping out of his nice and expensive boots and hose and tucking them in his pack. "Oh gods, eww." He groaned when he first set foot into the marsh. "Wait for me!" Geralt did, letting Jaskier lean on his strong arm as he blindly navigated the soggy puddles and mushy ground.

"I can't believe you kept your boots on," Jaskier said. "Oh, wait, I _can,_ , because you wear holes through each pair then just buy the first pair of new ones you come across that fit your feet. Feet, by the way, that would be more at home on a halfling because they are so big and hairy."

Geralt smirked just a little at the bard's constant griping.

"I get that there is the occasional sharp stick-ow!- that I step on, but your feet are as hard as hooves, so I really don't understand why you didn't just take them off," Jaskier continued.

"Leeches," Geralt said.

"Hmm? Pardon? I didn't understand your mumbling."

"Leeches," Geralt repeated at a normal human volume. "There are a lot of leeches in this area."

Jaskier came to a halt and tightened his grip on Geralt's arm. "Leeches? _Leeches?!_ Why didn't you tell me, you half-witted son of a bald sow?!"

"You prefer it when I let you think you know better than me," the Witcher said, which was true. Mostly, though, he hadn't even thought that Jaskier wouldn't have at least considered the possibility.

He watched as Jaskier held his breath and slowly lifted one foot out of the mud. A leech was attached halfway up his calf, two more a little lower, then four clustered on the sides and top of his foot. "Geralt," he whimpered, leaning most of his weight on the man's arm, "Are there seven leeches on my leg, or am I having a nightmare?" He looked pleadingly up at Geralt with the biggest, saddest eyes and Geralt felt something warm curl in his chest.

"There are a couple more on this side that you can't see," Geralt says, feeling kind of bad at having to tell Jaskier. "And you have another leg, too, so I would estimate that your guess of seven is on the low side."

Jaskier's face went white and he starts to just drop and only Geralt's quick reflexes had him taking the bard's weight before he fell into the mud. He held him under his shoulders and knees and was surprised at how he wanted to somehow pull Jaskier's entire body into his chest to keep him safe.

When Jaskier woke up he was mortified that he had fainted. He was alone, and the leeches had been removed, but Jaskier could see where they had been attached and felt sick. The evidence that Geralt had removed them and cleaned and dried Jaskier's legs after carrying him who knows how far made him fill with warmth and he was embarrassed to find himself blushing.

There was a set of crossed sticks which is Geralt's wilderness sign for "Jaskier Stay Right There Or I Will Leave You Wandering Lost Until You Get Eaten By Something And I Will Kill It And Keep The Head As A Monument To Your Stupidity." (Well, that's how Jaskier translates it. When Geralt tried to teach him to make signs from sticks and rocks he could only remember that one because it was the first one and it became such a boring lecture.)

He surmised that Geralt had left him and went on his own to fight the monster which was fine, except that _watching Geralt fight the monster was the only reason Jaskier had come on this stupid contract._

When Geralt made his way back to the camp it was fully dark and he was pleased to see that Jaskier had made a fire. "You smell like shit," the bard grumbled, wrinkling his nose.

Geralt sighed and dropped to the ground. "Thanks, Geralt, for carrying me two miles and taking care of my feet," he said in a mockery of Jaskier's voice.

"Yeah, thanks. But why do you smell like shit?"

"Because water hags throw mud as an attack. They also live in the mud and shit in the mud."

Jaskier raised his eyebrows playfully. "So just a step down from you, then, Mr. I Wear My Boots In The Mud."

Geralt sighed again, but Jaskier knew it was really a laugh. "Fine. You and your leeches can live in a fancy house all together with your fancy clean clothes. Oh, wait, leeches make you swoon."

The bard dropped the subject and looked around though he couldn't see anything outside the fire's range. "I don't suppose this marshland has a dry season starting tomorrow?"

"It would be Blathe at the earliest."

"Damn. I guess I'll have to get my shoes wet."

But in the morning Jaskier didn't, in fact, have to get his shoes wet. When they were ready to leave their dry oasis in the morning Geralt brushed the dried mud off his boots and rolled up his trouser legs.

"What are you doing?"

"You can wear mine. Stuff some grass in them. If my feet belong on a halfling, then yours belong on a quarterling," Geralt says.

Jaskier was open-mouthed at his friend's generosity. "Geralt, you-"

Geralt dropped the boots in Jaskier's lap. "I what?"

The bard cleared his throat and turned away, flustered. "Thank you. I've been nothing but a burden to you on this contract, and I appreciate you being so kind."

* * *

The man had carried him for two miles while he was unconscious and then lent him his only boots. Frankly, Jaskier felt he was obligated to reward Geralt for being a good... friend. So once they got to dry land, returned to town to reunite with Roach, then set their packs down in a room courtesy of the local duke, Jaskier kissed him. Except for the edge of guilt that Jaskier felt for leading Geralt on, the bard was getting more comfortable with kissing the Witcher. Mainly because the man was extraordinarily talented at it. The unfamiliar sensations of beard and moustache when Geralt had gone unshaven for several days was more of a curiosity than a turn-off. After all, if Jaskier had learned anything traveling with Geralt it was that every new experience was fodder for a song, and Jaskier was simply doing research for writing an amazing romantic ballad about a maiden being swept off her feet by a ruggedly handsome hero, and....

While Jaskier was an accomplished liar to the world, he needed to be honest with himself. He was staring to like this. His prick had liked this from the start. While Jaskier would be the first to deny that masculinity meant being the leader in the delicate dance of romance, it was a heady change from playing the role of the instigator of passion. If Jaskier relaxed and just kept himself receptive, Geralt seemed happy to determine the ferocity and sweetness of their entanglements. With women in general tending to take the role of being wooed, there was something refreshing about Jaskier being the woo-ee for once.

And, Jaskier could admit, if he was a woman he would have found the quiet, mysterious Witcher appealing. He was strong and handsome and had a quick mind despite not talking much.

...Okay, Jaskier supposed that even as _a man_ he found the quiet, mysterious Witcher appealing. But this was a new venture and Jaskier lacked knowledge of the ins and outs of buggery except for what he had picked up from jokes and wasn't sure he would ever want to do that.

"So, ah, thank you very much again for the use of your boots. Very kind of-- very chivalrous of you," Jaskier said, pulling away and wringing his hands, nervous about his thoughts of Geralt and his ass. "It's rare to find chivalrous men these days; I know I'm too much of a dandy to really be the strong protective type, but I like to at least sing about the things that make damsels sigh, so I guess if I haven't got the feet or the muscles or the..." He gestured at Geralt and tried to come up with a description for all of his Geralt-ness... "Rugged, manly stoicism, I can at least have a chivalrous mouth." At Geralt's look of growing amusement, he backtracked. "Wait! I didn't mean it like that! Poor choice of words!"

Geralt pushed him onto the pallet and Jaskier sat down quite roughly. The Witcher was smiling one of those tiny smirks with a hook on the end that usually meant he was going have fun by verbally flaying someone for being an idiot for going into a haunted house or swimming with drowners. "A chivalrous mouth? You're saying your mouth is chivalrous while mine isn't?"

"No," Jaskier quailed, and his voice was practically a squeak. "I'm sure that yours is, ah chivalrous, too. Let's change the subject, we have said 'chivalrous' too many times. It's getting weird."

Jaskier thought his friend was going to take advantage of the metaphor and segue into more kissing or even a demand for oral sex, but Geralt just removed his boots and trousers.

"I'm not going to suck your dick because I made a slip of the tongue. I mean," Jaskier fisted his hands in his hair. "I'm supposed to be good with words, dammit!"

Geralt shot him a smirk that hinted that he enjoyed Jaskier embarrassing himself as well as throwing him mentally off balance by stripping off his clothes with no warning. He lounged in a chair and stretched his bare legs out. "I thought you could wash the mud off my legs. You owe me."

"The mud has long dried and you brushed off the dry stuff when I gave you back your boots at the edge of the swamp," Jaskier said. "Plus, you didn't pick up any leeches."

"I am also awake, so you will have a much easier job," the Witcher added. "Get to work."

"I'm not your servant," the bard muttered, but he hauled himself off the bed and toward the washstand to pour water into the basin and moisten a flannel. "But I'll do it because you were nice."

There was a strange difference between helping Geralt bathe and simply wiping off parts of his body when he was otherwise decently covered. Geralt was less vulnerable like this, and Jaskier felt less empowered having his friend watch what he did from his higher vantage as the bard knelt in front of him. It wasn't humiliating, just humbling. And without the Witcher being submerged in a tub of water, Jaskier had to often use a hand to hold up one of Geralt's legs while he cleaned it with the cloth in his other hand. Geralt was being a lazy asshole and didn't help by moving his legs at all. The entire task was a reminder of their physical differences.

Jaskier thought he might have an advantage and tried to tickle Geralt's foot, but the bastard wasn't even ticklish. He refused to look the Witcher in the face, but could see his triumphant smirk from the corner of his eye when his attack failed.

He stood up and rinsed the cloth. "Anything else, m'lord," Jaskier sneered.

"Will you sit with me?" Geralt asked.

"What?"

"Sit with me, here, and maybe play something. You haven't had your lute in your hands for the past 32 hours, I thought maybe you would tune up in here before you go and play for other people." Geralt looked a little awkward at having to explain.

Jaskier was confounded. "You have never once asked me to play. In fact, every time you mention my music it is a demand for me to stop making noise. You hate it, so why are you asking now?"

Geralt fidgeted, which meant that his hands twitched before he made himself hold them still. "I don't hate your music. You just tend to do it at the wrong times. Like when we're approaching a good ambush point for bandits, or if I have a headache from the aftereffects of a potion."

Jaskier was still skeptical. "Name one song you like to hear me sing," he challenged.

"There's the one you wrote about the werewolf in Velen," Geralt said. "I like the words you repeat a lot."

Aside from an unexpected feeling of pleasure that Geralt had provided a synopsis and opinion of a piece of Jaskier's work, he was a bit let down. "The chorus for that one is nonsense! And it's a sad and depressing story! Why would you like that one the-- oh, of course you have sophomoric taste. Why am I surprised?"

Geralt shook his head. "You wrote it based on a story I told you. It's special."

Jaskier shrugged with fake nonchalance as he pulled his instrument from its wrappings. He was actually touched, but not inclined to give up his argument. "I've written dozens of songs about you. That is far from the best one. It's only popular because girls find it tragically romantic."

Geralt refused to say anymore, so Jaskier fiddled with his tuning legs and started to play "A Werewolf Betrayed."

_Ah mah, oh me, oh my / Two sisters with one man abide  
Ah mah, oh me, oh my / One jealous of the younger bride.  
Ah mah, oh me, oh my / For th' elder loved the husband, too  
Ah mah, oh me, oh my / Had wish'd for him to be her groom._

After completing the fourth and final verse Geralt nodded like Jaskier had completed a task. "Are you going downstairs to play?"

"Just for a bit. You coming to brood in a corner while you attempt to get drunk on whatever watered-down mead the duke serves his bannermen and guests?"

Geralt shook his head before he rested it on the back of the chair. "I think I'd prefer a quiet night."

"I'll get my loud self out of your way, then," Jaskier said, standing to change into some more performance-worthy clothes. "If we both are lucky, you can have a quiet room all to yourself all night."

Geralt gave him a strange look. Jaskier deciphered confusion, hurt, anger, then a wash of neutrality to cover the Witcher's show of emotions. He belatedly remembered his "feelings" for his friend, and tried to backpedal.

"I didn't mean to imply that I would be looking for someone else to spend the night with," Jaskier said hastily. "You know that I.... Anyway, I meant that if I'm lucky there will be people requesting songs and handing me coin and I will be busy all night so that you can enjoy some time without me hanging off of you like a leech." Jaskier's laugh was maybe a touch too loud. He felt nervous and guilty for making that slip. That brief hint of hurt that had flashed in Geralt's eyes (well, it was more of a minute eyebrow squinch if you knew what to look for) was like a wrench in Jaskier's guts and he needed to make it better.

He smoothed his new doublet over his chest and then went over the few steps to stand in front of the Witcher. "I'm sorry," he said, smoothing his hand over Geralt's hair. "You know I'm only good with words when I have time to edit the mess that comes out of my mouth. I'll be back to climb into bed and shove my bony knees into your kidneys before you even miss me." He bent over farther to kiss him on his mouth. Geralt hardly reciprocated, just met Jaskier's searching look with guarded amber eyes.

* * *

Geralt had gone to a whorehouse! Jaskier couldn't believe it. Their first day in Vizima, and Geralt had pranced off to a brothel without even discussing the matter with Jaskier, who was supposed to be Geralt's... something. He was a wordsmith, he was sure he could find the word that described their relationship if he put in the time-- but definitions were beside the point! Jaskier had brought his lute out after dinner to everyone's delight, only to ask the innkeep a couple hours later if he knew where his traveling companion had gone, and the yellow-eyed bastard had apparently waltzed off to a brothel!

Jaskier wouldn't go chasing after him, he decided. He wasn't desperate, and it wasn't like he was actually in love with the Witcher. He would sit here and drink and when Geralt got back he would pretend he didn't even notice the asshole had left.

The room was nearly empty when Geralt returned. He came over and huffed a laughed at Jaskier who had sleepily stuck his chin in the top of his mug to prop his head up.

"Haffa goo' nigh'?" Jaskier slurred.

Geralt hauled him to his feet and practically carried him to the stairs. "Not as good as yours, looks like."

Jaskier stuck his hand in Geralt's face. His fingertips were sticky, and one accidentally shoved into a nostril. "Yer face is stupid," he said surprisingly coherent. "Lef' meeyalone."

"Sorry," Geralt said, not about to be pulled into an argument with a sulky drunk bard. He pulled the sheets of one bed down and let Jaskier collapse onto it. "You want some water?" He asked as he pulled off Jaskier's shoes, but the bard was already snoring.

Geralt had already awakened, put himself to rights, and had broken his fast when Jaskier stumbled downstairs still in his rumpled clothes from the day before. "You!" He shouted across the room at the Witcher, causing winces from a handful of other patrons. He stomped over to Geralt's corner, still in his stocking feet. "You went to a brothel last night!" He hissed accusingly.

"I did," Geralt calmly replied. "You were working, and someone came asking for help."

"Help for what?" Jaskier sneered. "Someone needed your _sword?_ "

The Witcher calmly took a sip from his mug. "My fists, actually. But my sword was available if it was needed. Turns out my hands provided enough satisfaction to handle the job." He could be as catty as the bard. He was finding Jaskier's outrage amusing. The bard was opening and closing his mouth and his face was pink as he tried to think of something witty to say in reply. He pushed a plate with several pastries on it across the table. "Eat. Then you can yell at me more in private."

After scarfing down the food, they went back upstairs. Geralt sat down on his bed while Jaskier stood at the door after closing it with his arms wrapped around himself. "You took a job?"

"There was a client who had been abusing his privilege with the ladies," Geralt said. "One of those wealthy assholes who wouldn't be stopped by city watch. A lot of times a stranger who can handle himself is needed to step in and scare some respect into the men. I've done it quite a bit over the years."

"How much do they pay you?"

"I didn't count it before I gave it back. It wasn't the Passiflora; never felt right taking money from women in such circumstances."

Jaskier finally took a seat on the bed across from the Witcher. "Saint Geralt," he muttered through the hands he rubbed over his face. "I think I was an ass to you last night."

"More this morning. Don't worry about it. It was kind of cute how jealous you were."

* * *

Jaskier had earned enough at the morning market that he figured he could take the afternoon off. Maybe even the evening; he wasn't the only bard in town, and it would be good to check out the competition. Ready to change out of his performance silks, he unlocked the door to their room and...

Geralt was on the bed. Naked.

The witcher gave him an annoyed look. "Close the door."

Jaskier did. "Oh, right, sorry," he said, flustered.

"You're on the wrong side of the door," Geralt said from inside their room.

"No, I'm not! I, uh, forgot something!"

He could hear a few thundering steps, then Geralt pulled the door open. "Are you going to join me?"

"It looked like you were happy having your alone time," Jaskier said. "I thought I would leave you to-"

Rolling his eyes, Geralt was pulling him in by his arm then firmly shutting and locking the door.

"You came in here for a reason. You can do whatever you were going to do or you could join me." Geralt turned and got back on the bed. There was a... shiny-ness to his bottom. Jaskier stopped breathing: Geralt had been doing butt stuff!

Correction: Geralt was _continuing_ to do butt stuff right in front of Jaskier! He was three fingers in, and writhing and breathing in a way made it seem like he was very much enjoying himself.

"Does that really feel good?" Jaskier asked.

Geralt grunted as he lifted his ass to get a different angle. "Yes." His thigh muscles bulged. Jaskier's mouth was feeling a bit dry, but it must be from singing. Funny that he hadn't noticed it before this very second.

Geralt's cock stood up at attention and it should have been funny to see it thrusting into the air but it wasn't. The stunned bard could not think of anything less funny in the world at the moment.

He was turned on. This was getting ridiculous! If this kept up he might start to think he was really attracted to....

Jaskier couldn't ignore all the signs any more. "I'm an idiot."

"Yes," Geralt said. "You've been standing over there when I would really appreciate a hand."

"You're attractive!" Jaskier whined.

That got Geralt to pause and look at him, puzzled. "No one has ever sounded upset about that before."

Jaskier threw up his hands. "I am hard for you! I wasn't, but then you're here and doing that, and now I have an erection the size of the university's Astronomical Science Tower!"

Geralt cocked his head and smirked. "I've been there. You're nowhere near that large."

Jaskier gripped his own hair. "You don't understand! I like women!"

"Is this about you pretending to be in love with me?"

The bard gaped. His jaw literally dropped. "What? Why do you think that?"

"You really thought I fell for that? I've been teasing you the last several weeks trying to get you to admit it, but you just keep pretending."

Jaskier was blushing. "Maybe I'm not... pretending. Anymore. My body has kind of decided."

"I've noticed," Geralt leered. "But I'm talking about the pretence of affection."

"It's not a pretence," Jaskier admitted. "I'm quite affectionate."

"Men can love each other," Geralt said. "Plenty of men also have sex without it. Come over here and we can fuck and you can stop pretending you're in love with me and things can go back to how they were before that fake love confession."

Jaskier was unexpectedly hurt. "You don't...? I thought...." Maybe Geralt had never said anything about actually having feelings for him. Jaskier had probably just read too much into all the kissing and the whole revelation that the witcher appreciated his music.

"I'm attracted for you, " Geralt said. "I tried different ways of approaching you to find the ones that you respond to. If you want flattery and soft kisses we can do that." He abruptly changed how he was lying on the bed and went from scowling and frustrated to lax and open and inviting. His eyelids drooped and a hand came up to becken Jaskier. "Come here, darling," he said, in a warm tone that made a shiver run down Jaskier's spine but also brought tears to his eyes.

The insincerity hurt him. "I've actually gone and fallen in love with you," he muttered to himself.

Geralt, of course, heard him. "Well get over here, then."

"No! You can't just toy with my emotions like that!"

The witcher leveled him a look that clearly called him a hypocrite. Jaskier felt a wash of shame and ducked his head. "I'm sorry. You're right. But I can't jump into bed with you right now. You... you deserve better."

Geralt gave him an odd look this time. Exasperation mixed with disbelief, Jaskier thought. "Most people I fuck are scared of me. We're actually friends. Isn't that better?"

Jaskier's heart ached. "I thought you were in love with me when I pretended to love you back to save your life. Now I realize I may actually be in love with you but you don't really love me, and now I'm stuck with these feelings along with an attraction to you! If I'm going to adjust my entire self-image and become your... your lover, I need to know that you feel something too and won't just... drop me and leave me behind when you get tired of me. So no, I can't 'give you a hand' now. I need time to get used to this. You just... enjoy yourself." Jaskier left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

Jaskier was sitting alone with his ale when Geralt joined him a couple of hours later. "Why are you alone?" The witcher said.

"Because I need to work through this by myself. Go away."

"Work through it?" Geralt repeated. Jaskier didn't want to talk about this but Geralt refused to say anything more and the silence made him uncomfortable.

"These romantic feelings," Jaskier said. "Ugh, this is worse than when the Countess chucked me out."

"Why?"

Jaskier lifted his head to glare at him. "Stop asking questions. I thought you were allergic to emotions. You don't feel anything, remember?"

"That's not true," Geralt said. "We are friends."

"We are liars," Jaskier said. "Liars and fools. It's the first time you've admitted that we're friends and it's also the time I tell you that we can't be friends."

Geralt's hands gripped the edge of the table. "Why not?"

"Because I'm an idiot!" Jaskier snapped. "You looked at me, and I used that to stop you from killing yourself. Then I started looking at you, and now I'm suffering with a sudden conflict in understanding who I am as well as unrequited love. Travelling together is not going to work anymore, Geralt."

Geralt took some time to consider this. "What really is love? Why do you think yours is unrequited? Maybe I do feel love for you."

Jaskier banged his tankard onto the tabletop. "Don't do this, Geralt. Don't try to confuse me with a philosophical conversation where you twist the definition of a thing until I get confused and give in only to be hurt exponentially worse much later."

"I think you are confusing me with someone smart. There were a lot of long words in that that I didn't understand." The witcher saw that Jaskier didn't believe him. "Really, explain to me what love is."

"You're older than me," the bard muttered. "You know what it is."

Geralt had to lay it out. "I do know that it is a word used for many types of emotional attachments. Who first gives a person love?"

"Parents, I guess, if we are talking about familial and not romantic love," Jaskier said dully, not wanting to play this game.

"I was abandoned as a young child by my mother. I couldn't learn it then. What kind of love comes next?

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Friendship?"

"All witcher trainees knew they had a good chance of dying before their next name day. The people who taught us kept us constantly competing against one another because emotional attachments were dangerous. There was a story they told us about two trainees who had a strong partnership. One helped the other so that his inferior skills were disguised from the instructors. When they were on a hunting outing the weak one was mauled by a wolf. The other one foolishly jumped into the fight to rescue his friend and they were both killed. Emotional attachments get witchers killed."

When he finished Jaskier was looking at him with a horrified expression. "Was the story true?"

Geralt shrugged. "Don't know. Doesn't matter. The message is true. Then, after friendship, there is romantic love, yes?"

"I suppose," Jaskier said, tense and almost queasy about what sadistic story Geralt was going to relate next.

"I first encountered sex and available women when I was a full witcher. By then I obviously had the mutations, so there was no disguising what I was. Only whores would mention sex and they would be disgusted, terrified, or predatory. Do you suppose I learned about love from any of them?"

"But there are women who compliment you all the time!" Jaskier argued. "You must have heard the comments. _I_ have heard the comments!"

"I'm notorious," Geralt shrugged. "People lie to get close to fame. Have you heard any genuine offers of someone wanting to have a conversation with me?"

"No," Jaskier admitted, twirling his mug around.

"So tell me. What is love?"

Jaskier admitted to himself that it was possible that Geralt may truly not know, so he scrambled to put together an explanation that would make sense. "You know how caring for someone feels," he began. "You want to protect the person you care about from harm or discomfort. You do that with Roach every day when you check her hooves and make sure she has food. And you usually try to make sure I don't get killed by bandits and monsters, and stay somewhat warm and dry, and share your meals with me."

Geralt nodded. "How is love different?"

"It's more... intense. Caring for someone means you share your food. Loving someone means you would go without so that the one you love will suffer less hunger."

"I've done that," Geralt said. "For you," he added to make his meaning perfectly clear.

"You did it so I would stop complaining and you could have a quieter night. Let me continue! Um... When you love someone you would suffer for them to prevent them from suffering."

"Didn't you just say that?"

"I mean real suffering. Like a parent would give their life to save their child. Like one person might take the blame for something to save his friend from a beating."

"Or tell their captors to let the other person go?" Geralt asked, looking thoughtful.

Jaskier caught on to what he was referring to. "That was definitely not love. That was you being all heroic and self-sacrificing. You didn't even like me that first day."

"Hmm," Geralt said nodding. "What about walking miles through a swamp barefoot so that your friend didn't have to ruin his shoes?"

Jaskier tried to refute that, but he couldn't think of words and just sat tjere with his mouth open for a moment. "Maybe?" He said, then moved on. "But loving someone also means that you want to spend time with them when they are doing things that make them happy, even if those things may not be enjoyable for you."

"But what if a friend's singing makes you feel nice and you can hear it in your head as you walk back to him after a long fight, and it's taking so long when you just want to be back in the warmth with him where you're both safe? Could that be love?" Geralt asked.

Jaskier had to look away from the clear, golden eyes. He was blushing, and he felt his breath being squeezed in his chest. "I think you may have an understanding of the topic. And more of a talent with words than I imagined you were capable of having."

The Witcher looked around the room and then carefully touched Jaskier's hand with his. "I would like to go upstairs and kiss you again."

Jaskier went wide-eyed and nodded, and let Geralt pull him from the bench and lead him to the stairs.

"Would you like me to do something more than kissing?"

Every inch of Jaskier's body went still except for his dick. "Um...."

"I want to swallow your cock," Geralt said. His eyes were all dark and glowy-- which shouldn't be possible but the witcher somehow made it happen. "I bet I can do it so well you'll scream."

This would be a line that they couldn't uncross. There may be love between them, but they might not be good together-- just look at Geralt and the sorceress. Plus, Jaskier's prick felt enthusiastic about the idea now, but that might change when it was Geralt's very beardy face down between his thighs... or it might not. His mind was very intrigued by the picture he was envisioning.

"All right," Jaskier said, unable to bear the tension. He stood up to push his clothing down then sat on the bed again, his dick plump with interest. Geralt didn't start with his mouth right away, instead he started with strokes and touches over Jaskier's belly and thighs. The bard squirmed. "Well?"

"Relax. I know what I'm doing," Geralt said. He stood up and pushed Jaskier's shoulders gently to the bed. He climbed up to hover over Jaskier, pulled down his breeches and pushed up his shirt; held his cock loosely and kissed him again until the bard was moaning and thrusting up in demand for more stimulation. Instead of ceding immediately to his desires, though, Geralt took his time, his mouth meandering down Jaskier's neck, chest, and belly with leisurely licks and kisses and sometimes just scratching lightly at Jaskier's skin with his rough stubble, Jaskier's shirt having been frantically removed sometime during the process.

The bard wiggled and sighed and moaned but had stopped complaining, not wanting to do anything to delay the witcher's progress to his very ready prick.

When Geralt finally put his lips over the head of Jaskier's cock he cried out and his body flexed with the intensity of the hot mouth. Geralt slipped his hands under Jaskier's ass and sheathed his entire cock and let the bard thrust as much as he could with the limited leverage his hips had. As he grew closer to his climax, Geralt's fingers prodded up behind his balls, and just as he reached his peak Jaskier looked down and saw Geralt's supernatural eyes watching him intensely and the bard suddenly shouted as ecstasy filled him and he came into the witcher's throat.

Geralt gave him a few moments to recover and Jaskier panted as he stayed limp and prone on the bed. After a while he finally said, "You screamed."

"I believe it was more of a shout," Jaskier argued, backing down quickly at Geralt's proud expression. "Yes, I screamed. You smug bastard." Jaskier was so sated that his tone was mild without any edge to the words. "How are you so good at that? I've been to the best brothels in three countries, and it has never felt that good."

"I thought you're supposed to be the romantic one. Obviously it was better because I have your affection," Geralt said. "And you have mine. I wanted to please you the best that I could. Make you feel more than you ever felt with anyone else."

The truth of Geralt's confession hit Jaskier in the face and his heart. "You did." It was undeniable at this point that Jaskier was clearly physically attracted to him as well as deeply fond of the man. Jaskier decided it was time to commit. He rolled onto his side and looked at Geralt, the man sprawled on the bed next to him with his moonlight hair splayed out on the blanket and his radiant amber eyes. "You are so incredibly sexy. I am so bloody lost in my devotion to you."

"It took a blow job for you to admit it?" The witcher teased. Jaskier's eyes were locked on his lips as he spoke.

"...I guess so," Jaskier said. Despite having climaxed less than two minutes earlier, his body suddenly burned for Geralt's and he practically attacked the other man with hunger and little finesse, clamping his arms and legs around him and devouring his mouth.

Geralt graciously accepted the assault, and particularly enjoyed that Jaskier didn't flinch away from his erection as it stood between them. The bard was the one to first address the issue and slipped his hand into Geralt's clothes and took a firm grip. Geralt was well on his way to his own climax when Jaskier suddenly pulled away.

"We need to remove your clothes. I am dead serious," he added when the witcher tried to persuade him to continue touching him. They both stood up and worked together to remove the little Jaskier still had on and to strip Geralt down. Jaskier paused and just looked, feeling renewed sexual arousal growing as well as an upwelling of adoration.

He flapped his hands around his friend's face. "Just let me..." Geralt shrugged in measured consent, and Jaskier held his face like he often did with lovers. He looked into Geralt's uniquely beautiful eyes and saw the witcher's gaze soften with fondness. Jaskier kissed him, initiating the touch and maintaining control while Geralt responded without pushing back. The bard let his hands wander and found himself quite content to run his fingers and palms over the hard planes and raised scars of Geralt's shoulders and chest. When he pulled away it was to gasp out, "Hold me," and Jaskier tipped his face up to kiss him again and pulled Geralt's hands to his waist.

Tentatively Geralt added more heat to the kiss and Jaskier soon found himself bent backwards a bit as the taller man pressed against him while holding tightly to his waist and the back of his neck. Jaskier stumbled and took a step back when he pulled away to breathe.

"Yes, let's totally do this for real now." Jaskier said. "If you can forgive me for taking advantage of your infatuation as well as being extraordinarily thick in the area of self-awareness."

After a scramble Geralt was back on the bed and Jaskier was hovering over him pulling him to his peak. This time the bard's eyes were hot as he watched the muscles flex as his skilled hands played his lover's body like an instrument.


End file.
